A Little Piece Of Heaven
by XxDesecrateThroughReverancexX
Summary: Jasper and Rosalie come from two different worlds, but find out that they have more in common, particularly their dark and turbulent pasts. Each possesses their own personal demons, threatening their potential happiness. Will they reach their piece of heaven together, or will those demons tear everything they build down? Same universe as Teacher's pet. M for reasons.
1. First Sight: Jasper POV

The sounds of my favorite metal band in the world and the fans either singing along or shouting out encouragement to the musicians surrounded my head, entering through my ear and filling me with the joy that only comes from attending a Mastodon concert. I sang along to the chorus of "Stargasm," my eyes locked on the performers with awe. I loved coming to shows this solid.

"'And then we shift into overdrive," I sang softly along with the band. "But you're not here. And your legs and the stars collide, you're on fire…'" Man, this song was _sexy_. No, seriously! I made it a priority to have sex to this song at least once in my life.

I could hear, over the noise of the fans and music, someone singing softly along as well. There was a girl right next to me (how did I not notice her there?) singing along as I was. She was beautiful. Her hair was golden blonde, her eyes of the darkest blue, and she had the figure of a supermodel. Damn, I had never, in all my years, seen a chick this gorgeous at a concert like this. _What's a girl like you doing in a place like this, _I thought of the corny line, chuckling.

I honestly felt like I was falling in love, in that instant. It was weird, but true. The only thing about this girl that made her look like she belonged here was her concert t-shirt, with the band's name and album logo on it. She could really work that tee, if I do say so myself.

She turned her head slightly in my direction, as if sensing my gaze upon her. I felt a shock as I realized who the girl of my dreams was.

Rosalie Hale.


	2. First Sight: Rosalie POV

I felt like someone was watching me, as I stood amongst the crowd gathered for this particular Mastodon show. I turned my head slightly in the direction from which I could feel the magnetism of this mysterious person's stare. I saw a tall, honey-blonde guy looking at me with a small smile. I was very wary, at first, since I could remember what happened to me the last time a man looked at me like that-

(_When I'm through with you, we'll see who's going to want you-_)

and I flinched as the memory assaulted me. My therapist taught me how to dispel the despicable thoughts, and I used his technique right now, counting to ten in my head. _One, two, three_…

I reached ten and sighed. My previous suspicion of this guy dissipated, and was replaced by… admiration? I mean, this guy was cute, don't get me wrong, but to already feel attracted to him was strange. His blue eyes reminded me of mine, only his were a lot lighter, and clearer, than mine. Odd trust filled me, and trust was something I hadn't felt in so long, so it snuck up on me and startled me. Then, I recognized this guy as a Senior from my high school that I had never paid much mind to, but had heard bad things about.

Jasper McCarty.

_**The intro to my new fic. Same universe as **__**Teacher's Pet**__**, so same characters and such. Thought it'd be cool to tell Jazz and Rose's story. Title is from the Avenged Sevenfold song, yes. R&R. Hope you enjoy!**_


	3. Eyes Locked: Jasper

I stumbled out of my bedroom with my clothes half-on, half-off and out into the hallway, meaning to go into the bathroom and perform my daily morning routine. I miraculously got in there, tripping over the rug and almost falling flat on my face on the way in. "Smooth," I muttered to the empty bathroom that was dimly lit by a dying bulb. I looked at the weak light bulb and thought, _Dim, a shadow of what it used to be. Like me._

I sighed and pulled my pants and boxers down and relieved myself into the toilet, somehow managing to ward off sleep and avoid passing out in the middle of urination- that would be bad. And disgusting.

I finished up after what seemed to be hours in my mind's eye, and pulled my pants up, trudging over to the sink to wash my hands, smooth my wild hair with the extra water on my hands, then brush my teeth. Having completed those necessary tasks, I threw my Timberland boots on and stepped out to my Trans Am, grabbing my backpack from its spot on the coat rack on the way out.

As soon as I started the car up, I removed the CD from my stereo that I'd left in overnight, and stuck in another. I turned the radio up a little, and drove off to school, the sounds of the legendary Slayer keeping me awake. I arrived at school with many minutes to spare, so I parked my car in its reserved spot and jogged through the front door of the main building and into the lobby. Not many people were there, except for some kids I didn't really know, and… Rosalie Hale?

I stared at her, a bit dumbly, I suppose. I watched her walk over to the vending machine, stick a dollar in, and receive the soda that dropped from the thing and into the slot with the admiration of a man captivated and hypnotized by the most beautiful and seductive of sirens. She popped the top of the can of Coke and took a sip. I could've sworn she looked at me out of the corner of one violet eye… an eye with the intensity of an eagle.

Then, she turned her head to look in my direction, and I looked away, feeling embarrassed. I could feel the heat of her eyes boring into my back, so I dared to look back at her. Sure enough, she was staring at me. I tried to look away again, but something in her eyes kept my view on her. Our eyes were locked, until, mercifully, she blinked twice and looked away. Breathlessness made me lightheaded.

I made the pilgrimage to my locker, only looking back over my shoulder once. I caught her watching me go, and she turned away when she saw that I'd caught her. I shook my head and continued onward.

I couldn't stop thinking about her. Her gaze, the way those strikingly exquisite eyes held mine, how she hypnotized me like that. It was like being caught in the glare of a snake, but much more pleasing.

And she was beyond beautiful. She was _perfect_. This is something I was sure of. My dream woman, right in front of me, yet still so unattainable. I felt deprived of something vital; that something was her. I knew it. I hadn't even officially met her, but already I was in love with her. I was shocked to feel a spasm of pain in my chest. My heart ached… in yearning. For Rosalie.

I dispelled these distracting thoughts and moved on to homeroom.


	4. Eyes Locked: Rosalie

The blonde guy from the concert last night was looking at me. Like, staring, with unclear intent and determination in his crystal blues. His gaze upon me felt like rays of the sun's fire, burning deep into me. Of course I looked back, for fuck's sake, the dude was _staring_ at me. The majority of my brain was elated, the vain majority, the part of me that reveled in every admiring glance thrown my way. But besides that shallow portion of me, their lay another, darker part of my being. It lay in the back of my head, generally dormant, but little reminders like Jasper's (I think that's his name… yeah, that sounds about right) not-so-subtle scrutinizes would awake the demons inside, the thoughts that reverberated throughout the brick walls I'd put up in my mind-and assaulted me viciously. I felt the full force in these thoughts, and I made to walk to homeroom-

(_Damn, but you sure are a pretty young thing_-)

- and a wave of nausea washed over me. I felt faint, like I could pass out at any moment-

(_Let's see if you feel as good as you look_-)

- so I grabbed onto the handle of the front entrance to this school lobby, gripping with the intensity of one who is trying to run, desperately, but then I let go and sighed shakily. The only escape from this pain would be to run away from myself, but that's just not feasible.

I felt like bursting out into tears. I looked at my reflection in the glass doors, and saw no sign of my pitifully sorrowful emotional torment. I only saw perfection. My face was fierce, rather than weak, and I was glad it didn't reflect any of the things I was feeling. I'd become a master at hiding. No one could see through the mask.

I composed myself, taking slow breaths, and made my way to homeroom, sipping my soda without much enthusiasm. I had shaken the thoughts successfully, simply by mulling over my own beauty. I knew I was hotter than any other girl here in this shitty little town. Forks was the perfect place for someone like me, someone who enjoyed the attention of all males and the envy of all females… maybe even a little too much.

And I wondered what the deal with that guy was. I had never even talked to him, didn't have any classes with him. I don't think I ever even saw him around… or I just never paid any attention to him.

The moment I arrived in homeroom, my friend Vera (who wasn't really a good friend, just one of the other preppy-popular kids I hung out with just for the sake of not being alone) rushed up to me and bombarded me with questions. She didn't even allow me to sit down first.

"Where were you last night?" she demanded in her excited little kid's voice. Her voice was an octave too high to be pleasant to the ears, and her accent was of typical Valley girl- but this was Forks, where it shouldn't have the right to exist. "I tried calling you, we all went out shopping. Trish and Val asked where you were, too, but I didn't know what to tell them. So, spill. What were you up to?"

I wanted to tell her to bite it and stop shoving her nose into my business. But you just didn't do that kind of thing in my clique, so I put on a fake smile and said, "You know me. I was up all night, finishing my homework, studying."

"But you didn't answer my call? Must've been one hell of a serious study session," she teased, but I could sense the underlying outrage and dismay underneath the teasing tone. I could see it in the set of her eyebrows, could hear it in the slight wavering in her voice.

"I must not have heard it. I was listening to music, so…" I shrugged. Yeah, I was listening to music, but I wasn't going to tell her where, and what type. The others in my group did not know of my true interests, or what I did with my time. If they'd known I had spent my night at a heavy metal concert, I would be out. In high school, you never wanted to be out.

"Oh, okay," she smiled. She seemed to accept that answer, and her fragile self-esteem was rescued when she believed that I had not chosen to ignore her call, rather, I just didn't hear it. "So, you free tonight?"

_Well, it's a Friday_, I thought. "Sure. Where we going?"

And we made plans to go shopping tonight. Though I had to sit through the rest of her cheery, incessant chatter until the bell that signaled the beginning of first period sounded, I was able to keep a fake smile on my face, plastered on like a flyer on a telephone pole. I was grateful for the distraction granted to me by Vera's plans, though. I could expel almost every vile or uneasy thought from my head, except…

I couldn't get Jasper's cold blue stare out of my head.

_**Finally, second chapter, done! I got a chance to finally work on it, so… Till next time, and reviews are awesome!**_


	5. Hole in the Earth: Jasper

"_I hate all of my friends… They all lack taste… There's a hole in the earth, I'm out…"- "Hole in the Earth" by Deftones_

"Jasper, you comin with us down to La Push?"

We were walking along a forgotten, overgrown path in the woods behind my house. Moss covered nearly every tree. It took me a moment to realize my friend, Peter, was speaking to me. "Uh, yeah. Tonight?"

"Yeah, man," Peter replied, raising his shoulders and lowering them back down quickly. It was his normal manner when he spoke. He was sometimes uncertain of himself, and, consequently, shrugged a lot. "Around eleven-ish. Sound good to you?"

"Fine." I rethought. "Who else is coming?"

"Well, you know," he shrugged again. "Tommy, Bill, Fly, Charlotte, Mike-"

"Whoa," I stopped him. "Don't just try to talk right over that like you didn't say it."

"Whaddya mean?" He cocked his head slightly to the side, his face a mask of false ignorance.

I snorted. "You know, man. Do you _really_ have to bring Charlotte along?"

"Dude," he whined. "I love her."

"Doesn't mean you gotta bring her with us."

"But- oh, you just don't get it-"

"Whatever, man. I just don't see why she has to come with us. Not all of us have a girl, man. It ain't right of you to bring her."

"D'oh, man, you're just jealous. She's comin with us… ain't nothin you can do bout it."

I sucked my teeth at him and then looked away. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him grinning triumphantly.

"Dick," I murmured.

"Asshole."

I turned and smacked him upside the head. He made an indignant sound with the roof of his mouth and tongue, then attempted to punch me in the gut. I caught him, however, and twisted his arm away, using the leverage to throw my other arm around and grab him into a chokehold. At first, he struggled, obviously not wanting to go down without a fight. Eventually, though, he needed air, so he tapped-out on my forearm. I let him go.

He glared at me, and I stared with a cold expression of subtle superiority. Then we burst out laughing, loud barks that scared a bird out of a tree somewhere. He clapped me on the back heartily. We went along back to my house, the woods seeming much too boring now.

"By the way," he said when we were at the back door. "What's your issue with Charlotte, anyway?"

"She not one of us," I hissed.

He was taken aback by my abruptly fierce tone. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means she isn't one of us. How fucking hard is that to get?"

"Pretty hard, I'd say." His eyes were narrowed to near-slits. "I don't see how it's a problem."

I laughed once. "Think about it, friend. How comfortable can a peppy-happy-cheery teenybopper be with the likes of us?"

He chuckled, and sighed. "She doesn't have an issue."

"What about the rest of us? How do you think _we_ feel?"

He groaned. "Everyone's fine with it but you, you dickwad."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, fine, whatever."

"No, not whatever. Seriously, what is your thing? Are you jealous?"

"What?" I said it shortly and darkly.

"Are you jealous of me for having her? Wish you had a girl like that?" Then, he smirked and his mood turned mischievous; I'm good at picking up the emotions of others. "Or are you jealous of _her_?"

"Huh?"

He laughed delightedly. "Jealous that she gets this piece of ass, when you can't?" He gestured to his body, winking.

"Fuck off, Pete," I snickered. "I ain't no fag."

"And if you were?"

"You're not my type."

We laughed again, holding on to each other's shoulders to keep from falling over. We collected ourselves and went and plopped down on the sofa.

"C'mon, man," he said after awhile of us just laying there. "If it really bothers you… why don'tchu get a girl and ask her to come with us?"

I cocked an eyebrow sarcastically.

"Like, ask some chick out. Some cute rocker chick, since you hate the idea of one of the _normal_ people hanging out with us…"

"I'm not interested in anyone," I lied in a monotone.

"I don't believe you."

I looked down at my feet and chuckled. He sighed heavily.

"Don't lie," he warned. "You like someone, don't you?"

I gave up on denial immediately. "Is it that obvious?"

"Seriously, Jazz. Just ask her out. It's not too hard. It helps to… ignore who you're talking to. Wait, let me re-word-" I had furrowed my eyebrows at his suggestion in confusion- "Pretend that you're not talking to a girl that you like… pretend you're talking to one of the guys. Well, not like she's one of the guys. You'd look awkward if you did. Act like she's just another girl, some friend, maybe-"

"Forget it, man," I interrupted, looking back down at my feet again. "I don't need to hear all this." Along with embarrassment, I felt a dull rage inside. Sometimes, I kind of hated my friends. Especially at times like this, where they tried to pry into my private life.

"Why? You some expert ladies' man now?"

"No. I just don't need it."

"But you like this girl, right?"

Rosalie Hale had a lot in common with me, I could see. But, I realized that, in reality, common interest doesn't matter at all. Not one fucking bit. I thought of her perfect face, and felt a pang of pain, the ache that accompanies inadequacy. She's beautiful… and I'm fucked up. I've got a scar on my face that started at the hairline and ended below my right cheekbone. Even if it wasn't there, I doubt I'd look like any Patrick Dempsey or Brad Pitt, putting it simply. She couldn't like me, not at all. If I even tried with her, she would just laugh at me, and that is one thing that I don't tolerate; being laughed at.

I couldn't look at Pete; I felt too ashamed.

"I don't have a chance with her," I muttered, dismayed by my thoughts.


	6. Hole in the Earth: Rosalie

Shopping Friday night with the girls worked like Valium, putting my mind into a comatose state of lethargy… but at the same time, cleared it.

I shopped around with my friends, examining expensive clothes that they could never hope to afford. They had money, believe you me, but they didn't have _my_ kind of money. They only window-shopped, admiring the various articles of clothing, while I seriously searched, my credit card ready to make a purchase.

"What do you think of this?" I held a frilly blouse in front of my torso and posed for my friends.

"Gorgeous," Trish assured me.

"Oh, it'll look _so_ hot on you," Val gushed.

"It's nice," Vera shrugged. I thought I heard her mutter under her breath, something along the lines of, "everything looks good on you, don't even know why you need _our _opinions…"

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she said to me, in such a sincere voice that I almost believed her and dismissed what I caught her saying as my imagination.

"Okay," I smiled. But I thought, _well, bitch, if you don't like the stops we make, don't come along for the trip_.

Vera smiled back… but to me, it looked forced.

Yeah, I don't exactly trust her. They're all just as fake as me… only, what's _their_ excuse? They weren't gang-raped, passed around from guy to disgusting guy, whom all took turns violating me. Not a great memory of one's first time, as you can imagine.

I cringed and gulped back stomach acid.

"So, Rose," Trish started, breaking me out of my sickening reverie. "Tyler and I were going out to the drive-in on Saturday… Come with?"

"Um… why would I?" I realized, too late, that that had come out a bit rudely.

Trish didn't seem to notice, to my relief. "For fun. Duh!"

"Wouldn't I be the third wheel? It's kind of awkward, y'know."

"You wouldn't have to be," she replied easily. "Pick up a date and we'll have a double."

"Uh…"

"What?"

"Who would I ask out?"

Val giggled. "Rose, are you serious right now? Any guy in our school would be over the fucking _moon_ to go out with you."

Vera nodded in agreement, with just a hint of bitterness, it seemed.

"That's not the problem," I disagreed. "The problem, is that I don't really like any of the guys around here."

"Liar," Trish tittered.

"No, I'm not lying." Yes I was.

"Who's the guy?"

"No guy."

Vera laughed, "Come on, spill it! Does he even _go_ to our school? Is older? Is he _cute_?"

I sighed exasperatedly. "Drop it."

They laughed at my expense, but I guess I sort of went with the crowd, and joined in their laughter. Apart of the crowd. The thought alone made me feel safe. But honestly, I hated them a bit. They seemed beneath me… but at the same time, they were _above_ me.

For some reason, I felt some mysterious pull to Jasper McCarty. It was strange, yes… He was one of the outcasts, who ran around with a group of outcasts… he wasn't really all that good-looking, I mean, he had this big scar on his face, for crying out loud… and maybe all these things made for the draw.

~DTR~

I sat down in the dining room in the chair next to my mother's. She was reading _Vogue_ and sipping on a glass of wine. I only sat there for a while, watching her read and drink, waiting for her to finish. She finally put the magazine down and smiled up at me.

"How was your day, sweetheart?"

"It was good," I said, smiling only a little. It wasn't a fake smile… that was why it was so weak.

"That's nice… Do you want some wine?"

"I'll have a glass."

My mother got up to pour me some. Sometimes, my mother would allow me a glass of wine, but only one, of course, and only at night. Oh, and only once or twice a week.

She brought my glass back to the table and handed it to me. I thanked her, brought the glass to my lips, and sipped delicately. My mother watched me carefully, as if expecting something.

"What?" I asked.

"Just wondering how you're doing," she responded, almost dreamily. My mother had a soft way of speaking.

"What do you mean?"

She frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I assumed you'd be just a bit upset…"

"Why?" I looked around the room for further illumination, not knowing how that would help. But it did, because I saw the calendar. October 1st. Tomorrow would be the first anniversary of my rape. Morbid, isn't it, to think of it as an anniversary? I set my wine glass down, suddenly not thirsty, but needing the drink all the same.

"Rosalie, do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head slowly, keeping my eyes down. My mom sighed and leaned over to kiss my forehead. I hugged her, and she hugged back. I pulled away and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. A few tears dampened the skin.

"I think I'll just go to bed now," I whispered.

She nodded once. "It's probably the best thing to do."

"Goodnight, mom," I called hoarsely as I made my way upstairs to my bedroom.

"Goodnight."

I fell straight down onto my bed and cried into my pillow, muffling the sound, as to not alert any of my family to my sorrow. My stifled sobs were interrupted by a small voice at the door, however.

"Rose?"

I got up, sniffled, and looked to the door. My youngest brother, Matthew, was standing there in his footy pajamas, watching from the doorway. He was frowning in confusion; five-year-olds didn't quite get the concept of human suffering, and would not until they were actually thrown into the world. Until they felt a bit of the evil and cruelty of this world.

"Are you okay?" he asked me in a small voice.

"Yeah, fine," I answered in a falsely cheery tone. It wavered a touch, but I doubt he noticed. "What are you doing up so late?"

He shrugged his small shoulders. "I can't sleep."

I chuckled. "Come over here."

He trotted over to my bed and sat on the side, next to me. I pulled his little body to mine, resting my chin down on the top of his head. He toyed with a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb. I could feel the time beginning to go, so I let go of Matthew and pushed him into a position where I could speak to him face-to-face.

"Alright, Matty," I said softly. "Bedtime."

He protested. "But I don't _wanna_ sleep."

I looked at him sternly. "Matt, bed. _Now_."

He whined like a little brat. "Nooo! I wanna stay here with you."

"But I'm going to sleep now, too. Christ, Matty, it's-" I glanced over at my alarm clock "-almost eleven. I'm tired, and I think you are, too."

He folded his arms across his child's chest and lowered his head to glower from beneath his furrowed blond eyebrows.

"Matt," I scolded. "Bed. Chop, chop."

He stuck his lower lip out in an angry pout.

I sighed. I picked him up and carried him to his room. I set him down on his racecar bed and pulled the covers over him. The whole time, he made mumbling complaints. I ignored them.

He finally relented and allowed himself a delicate yawn. I smiled at him, getting a sleepy grin in return. I tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead, then trudged back to _my _bedroom feeling tired myself, now. I quickly undressed, and decided I'd just sleep in my undergarments; I was too tired and lazy to put any jammies on. Besides, this was more comfortable.

I had an uneasy sleep, haunted by dreams of pain and humiliation… and Royce King's harsh, wicked laughter.

_**Next chapter as soon as I can. Stay tuned.**_


	7. Streets: Jasper

"_There seems to be a difference, two different types of kids- the ones who go out and the ones who are taught to live… One group's taught how and the other group's taught why… And don't you think it sounds stupid when someone's treated different cause they're not the same as me or you?"- "Streets" by Avenged Sevenfold_

La Push was dark in the onset of night, no lights except for the low, menacing glow of the moon. It cast its shine over the sand of First Beach, reflecting off of the miniscule rocks and giving the entire scene a surreal quality. The ocean was black, reflecting the moon's shape with near perfection. The moon compelled the ocean to make waves, pulling the waters forth with its reaching hands of gravity. The moon controlled it all. It was a specter that mingled light and darkness in an odd and other-worldly manner. The beauty cannot be denied.

I sat on this beach with The Guys. Tommy, Fly (whose real name was Eric), Bill, Mike, Pete… and Charlotte, an unwelcome guest- at least in my eyes. She and Pete sat on the sand, leaning back against a large piece of white driftwood. She laid back on him, both of her hands in both of his. As if there was a need to advertise their affections. Huh.

Empty bottles of beer and Grey Goose were strewn all over the place, scattered around us like the rocks of a cairn. I sat Indian-style, or pretzel-style, or whatever you call it. It was October 1st- no, October 2nd; it was past midnight. The rest of the guys were all sprawled out on the sand, chattering and smoking pot. I had had a few hits myself, and was currently inhaling another from my ever-shrinking joint when Mike stood up and made his place in the middle of our group.

"Alright, now, fellers," he announced. "And lady," he added, glancing at Charlotte and popping his eyebrows up once and then down again. "I'd just like to say that tonight is fuckin awesome."

We uttered back a call of appreciation.

"And I love y'all to death."

Another murmur of approval, just a bit louder.

Mike nodded, looking all around at us. He seemed hammered to me. "With friends like you chuckle-fucks, a guy can forget all his issues. I mean, my balls, for instance, are aching more than the hands of an aged lumberjack. Like, I can't get none, if y'all know what I'm sayin." Yep, definitely wasted.

Tommy and Bill laughed, and Fly was fucking roaring, falling over onto his side, the loud rolls of laughter like thunder. Charlotte blushed deeply, however, and Pete glowered at Mike like he was the devil. I just sighed and looked down at my knees for a moment, shaking my head and grinning.

Mike smiled appreciatively. "Yup, you guys get it. But my problem don't matter right now, cuz I got you." He raised his beer into the air in salute. "Cheers!"

"Cheers," we muttered, I holding up my now-tiny spliff, Tom nodding his head upwards, Bill raising his own beer, and Fly thrusting his arm out in the classic Nazi salute, shouting, "_Heil!_" I choked on giggles, and the others had the same problem as me.

"That's not funny," Charlotte complained in her slightly too-high-pitched voice.

"Sure it is," Fly disagreed.

"How the hell is it funny?"

Fly grinned, his pimply face lighting up, and looking less unattractive than usual. "It just is, sweetheart. You obviously don't understand humor like ours."

She scowled. "Obviously not."

"Well, you see," Fly cadenced, speaking fluidly and with the air of a regal, sophisticated diplomat. "The joke has many different aspects to it that make it funny. First, my dear- it is simply a satirical thing. I was being sarcastic, since Mikey raised a toast of sorts. Second, Mikey's got blond hair and blue eyes, and, as you know, Hitler was all about Aryans."

I wasn't totally sure where Fly was going with this. He was giving an impromptu lesson in the connection between his sick sense of humor and history. But that's Fly for you. Eric "Fly" Yorkie is unpredictable and sly. He acts like a complete dumbass most of the time, being retarded in his way of joking. But he is actually one of the smartest fuckers I know. He pulls straight A's out of his ass, and when you really talk to him, like, _seriously_ have a real conversation, he can be as articulate and insightful as any politician or philosopher.

"So, Charlotte, my dear," he concluded suavely. He put on a Southern-gentleman-type accent, making 'Charlotte' into 'Shahlotte' and 'my dear' into 'mah deah.' "That is the joke. Which is now officially killed, because I had to sit here and explain it to you."

Charlotte huffed angrily, reminding me of a five-year-old that is not allowed a second cookie. Pete put his arm around her and attempted to soothe her while his eyes seemed to try to strike Fly dead. The contrast between his soft voice and the affection he showed to his lover, and the death glare he showed for his friend was striking and peculiar. It all seemed out of place in this setting that was supposed to be merry.

"Still not funny," she mumbled sourly.

"You know what is funny, though?" He said it like a statement, not a question.

Poor, drunk, high Mike Newton. He was still standing in the middle of us, sipping his Sam Adams contentedly and gazing dreamily at the landscape. He didn't see Fly coming; I did.

Before Mike could do anything about it, he was involved in a hit-and-run pantsing. Fly just ducked right in, and yanked Mike's jeans right down.

To add to his misfortune, his boxers came down, too.

Charlotte gasped and went even redder than before. Pete was outraged, and his lip trembled with that outrage as he gave Fly an even _more_ belligerent and sinister gaze. Those two were lucky, since they were located directly behind Mike, only seeing his ass. I was the unlucky one, seated right in front of him. Bill and Tom were on the sides. Now, it was funny and all, I'll admit that… but I _so_ did not need to see Mike's junk tonight.

He wore an expression of outrageous shock, gaping and unable to move. He looked downward at his package and his face went even redder than Charlotte's. His dick was pierced at the head, the hoop going through the urethra. I cringed in disgust and shock. I thought, _Oh, dear God, I _really_ didn't need to see this shit, not tonight_. _Not _ever_, in fact_. Then, my thoughts took a different, more comical turn. _Huh, funny how he thinks that stupid fucking cock piercing's gonna make his dick look any less insignificant. Smaller than I thought, that thing_.

I busted up, holding onto my feet to keep from rolling backwards, but still managing to fall onto my back, my legs still crossed. I laughed until it hurt, then laughed some more. Bill and Tommy laughed, too, and Fly was, of course, the loudest of us all. Pete squeezed his lips together to keep from smiling, but not really succeeding. Even Charlotte couldn't contain the mirth, giggling behind her hand, but still blushing.

Mike finally came to his senses, and hurriedly pulled his pants up. I blessed whoever listened that he finally did, as I had most definitely seen enough of him. He was embarrassed for a whole of three minutes- then he sat down and went on being his drunken self.

"Billy-bob," I called.

Bill looked up from his bottle, only his eyes moving. "Yeah?" Bill had a very deep, manly voice. He sure as hell didn't sound like any high schooler I'd known before him.

"What's up, man? You alright?"

He frowned. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno, you just seem… quiet."

"Just thinkin."

"Oh." I considered, pursing my lips. He had looked back down at his hands, but I got his attention again. "What about?"

He frowned again, very quickly, in a gesture of nonchalance. "Nothin really important." He licked at his lip ring, which was in the extreme corner of his lower lip.

I nodded. "Ah."

"Any reason for asking?"

"Not really." I opened up a can of Budweiser and sipped at it.

He and I were quiet for the rest of the night.

I went home around four a.m., feeling strangely hollow, like something was missing.


	8. Streets: Rosalie

I saw darkness. I opened my eyes, and light assaulted my pupils. I blinked thrice, and clarity joined the light. I was staring at the ceiling.

I sat up, slowly and carefully, not wanting to get that dizzying sense of vertigo I sometimes experienced in the morning. I stretched my arms out, hearing the bones pop and crack. I yawned widely and threw my legs around the side of the bed to step out. The digital alarm clock read nine-thirty-three. I sighed heavily, irritated; I'm not a morning person.

I reluctantly got up and threw the blanket and sheets off of me when they refused to let go, wrapped around my body. I imagined them saying, _Don't go, Rose! We love you! Come on, sleep a little more… ugh, Rose, stay! _I laughed a little, but it sounded a tad harsh to my ears.

Grabbing a towel and a random t-shirt-and-skinny-jeans outfit, I trudged along to my personal bathroom. At the time that my parents were purchasing our house (four years prior to now), I made it clear that my own bathroom was a prerequisite, and that demand was not ignored. I can't stand having to fix myself up with a time limit; most mornings, the entire time you had in the one bathroom in a house in which a whole family dwelled was spent yelling back at whoever was banging on the door and requesting your exit and their entrance in loud tones of impatience. I simply can't deal with a time limit, you see. I need peace, quiet, and, of course, time to make myself look absolutely perfect.

I mean, not that I'm already perfect to begin with. But, everyone needs some primping. Being as beautiful as I am, one may wonder why the fuck I would even bother with the normal morning routine. Well, you had to look at it this way: when a sculptor chooses his medium, what does he choose? The plain old regular rock, or the pure marble? If you said marble, ding-ding-ding, that's correct! Make your way over to the back here to receive your prize! Thanks for playing! To summarize, I'm the perfect medium to work on.

I hung the towel up on a hook right next to the head of the shower and laid my clothes down on the edge of the sink. Funny I mentioned marble in my analogy; my bathroom is almost entirely marble- excluding the toilet and metal fixtures- and is more than up to par. I removed my brassiere and panties. I looked in the full-length mirror by the door, admiring my nude figure. I'm not les-bo, or anything, but I could admit to myself that I would _totally _bang me. For a fifteen-almost-sixteen-year-old, not bad, I'd say. Fantastic, in fact.

I tore my eyes away from my reflection eventually, having seen enough and subconsciously wanting to avoid looking into my own eyes in the mirror, afraid of what I'd find in them. I knew that if I looked into my eyes, there would be darkness. A deep, pitiless void of bitterness and a deep hatred that lied mostly dormant within. My heart was in that void, the hatred buried deep within. My heart, full of hate and so deep in the void. So deep down…

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowed deeply, and shook my head slowly. The seething thoughts were getting out of hand.

I set the water to the pressure and temperature of my liking and jumped in. As I scrubbed and caressed the skin, I worked at clearing the horrible things from my mind and bringing my mind to a different place… what was the plan for today, who was I going to see, what was I going to do tonight, and so on.

I finished up in fifteen minutes, toweling off hastily and then yanking my clothes on. I pulled out my trusty hair dryer, plugged it in, and went to work on my sodden hair, using my other hand to brush through it with my trusty brush. I finished in record time, my golden locks flowing down my shoulders and to my mid-back in soft waves. I smiled at my reflection, turning and twisting this way and that to admire my mane. I was so absorbed in my hair that I didn't bother to check my outfit out. I look good no matter what I wear, so who gives a fuck, right?

~DTR~

Homeroom started a minute after I got in the classroom. I sat there, alone in the room (even the teacher had not yet arrived) and played bullshit games on my iPhone, flinging numerous birds at towers built with glass, wood, and swine. The first bell rang, and a couple of people filtered in, taking their seats. One sat in the front corner of the grouping of desks, the other, a kid with shoulder-length black hair and plugs of a very large size and black in color in his ears. I estimated, using my math-whiz skills, that they could be, maybe, one and three-quarters inches across. Just approximation, of course.

I continued to play, when I heard the stretchy-ears kid clear his throat. I automatically looked up, as if called.

"Um," he said, seemingly unable to meet my eyes. He had hazel eyes, and if he wasn't acting so goddamn awkward, he'd be cute.

"Yeah?" I tried to sound cold and stuck-up, but it was morning, so I couldn't muster enough bitchy-ness.

"Just wanted to say that I like your shirt," he muttered, shrugging.

I was a little confused, and frowned. I looked down at my torso though. Damn it! I had, in my exhaustion, thrown on one of the shirts I did not, as a rule, wear to school, where my friends could possibly see. I was wearing an Opeth shirt. Fuck, it just had to be one that the others would consider "creepy." Shit, why couldn't I have grabbed a less conspicuously metal-oriented?

"Uh, thanks," I said back, stunned into the shyness he displayed.

"My name's Tommy," he said, smiling bashfully. He put his hand out halfway from his body.

"Rosalie," I beamed, grasping his hand and shaking it warmly. He pulled his hand away reluctantly, and when he thought I wasn't looking, looked at it in wonder.

"Sorry to bother you, by the way," he whispered apologetically, watching my face from under his lashes.

"What? Oh, no, it's no bother."

"It's just… well, I never saw any girl around here as pretty as you that likes Opeth." He looked down, blushing furiously, and I could imagine him thinking _Did I really just say that?_

I grinned, and blushed a little, as well. "No, it's fine, really. I think it's cool that you dig them."

Tommy returned my smile, some of the shyness dissipated- but I could still see some amazed wonderment in his expression, like he'd been granted a vision of Paradise by God, or something.

I had to admit, he was cute. I wouldn't mind going out a time or two with him; too bad I had to act the part of well-to-do prep with a pretty face and nice body.

Tommy nodded slightly and moved his gaze downward to look into his backpack. While he rummaged in there, I looked over his body. He was slim, some might even say scrawny. But you could see the muscle there, not big but very toned. The muscles made ripples in his tight shirt. His biceps bulged out the shorter-than-usual sleeves, and his chest was even more toned than the arms. I couldn't see them, but I imagined he had a toned stomach, too.

I licked my lips a little. They say that when a guy gets skinny enough, his cock grew bigger in response, almost to balance and make up for the difference. I wondered if Tommy over here would apply to that theory.

He pulled his head back up from his bag and grinned at me, his confidence boosted a bit. He threw his legs around to turn and face me. I was on his left and we were both close to the back of the room. His black form-fitting shirt was designed for Trivium, another good group.

"Hey," he said, more confident than before. "I was thinking…"

"Yes?" I was expecting a invitation to go out with him… and turned out to be right.

"You wanna go out with me? Like, to a movie, or something?"

Just as I was about to answer, Vera's voice pierced my eardrums and rattled my cochlea.

"Hi, Rose!" She sat down in the desk in front of me. As soon as she did, Tommy turned back around in his chair, averting his eyes and staring at the desk. Vera threw a disgusted glare his way, scoffed, and went back to me. I felt kind of bad, and wanted to shout at her that she really shouldn't be like that to him. But I barely knew him, I just met him, so why should I say anything?

"Hey, V," I chirped cheerily.

"What's up?"

"Not much. You?"

"Nothing, really." She caught sight of my shirt, so I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, which I only did when I was either defiant or uncomfortable. "That's an… interesting top you've got on, Rose."

I swallowed, hopefully inconspicuously. I quickly came up with a random story to explain. "It's not mine. I didn't have many options as far as my outfit this morning, almost everything's in the wash. I was going to be late, too, so…" I trailed off with a shrug and a roll of my eyes in a gesture meaning, _What're you gonna do, right?_

"So, like, it's a friend's?"

"Yeah, well, not my friend, a family friend." I forced myself to shut up. There was no need to spew some long, complicated story just to save myself embarrassment. A good liar never overcomplicated their story.

"Okay," she trilled. She was satisfied with my answer, I could tell.

I thought I saw Tommy glance our way for a moment, his expression brooding and unsure.

"You doing anything for Halloween?" she asked.

"No plans as of right now. Is there a party?"

"Yep. Tyler Crowley's throwing it at Lauren's place."

"Mallory?"

"Uh-huh."

At the mention of a party, Tommy's head lifted up slightly, his ears seeming to perk up with interest. I thought I saw Vera's eyes flicker slightly in his direction, almost angrily… as if she was personally insulted that he would dare to listen to her conversation.

I smiled halfway, one side of my mouth curving up. "I might come."

"Great," she cried happily, clapping her hands together once. I had a passing thought of _If your happy and you know it, clap your hands_, and I came dangerously close to cracking up.

Vera spun around in her seat to face her desk, laying a piece of paper (likely an unfinished homework assignment) out and getting to work on it.

An alien thought came to me. "Hey, V?"

"Yeah?" she called back without looking away from her work.

I glanced at Tommy, and saw him staring out of the corner of his eye. I smiled warmly, and he smiled in return. I went back to speak to Vera.

"Could I bring a guest with me?"

_**Hey, sorry for the wait. How do you think the little party's gonna go? The thing with her and Tommy confuse you? No Jasper/Rose weird? Good. It should be confusing, haha. Tune in next chapter.**_


End file.
